


Snow Angels

by nagi_schwarz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spooks | MI-5, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Cassandra Fraiser hates the cold, doesn't mind working at the deli with Jon, and one day she might make snow angels.





	Snow Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the story_works Winter Magic Challenge and What If AU Challenge #10 Workshop AU.

Cassie always got stuck working the night shift at the deli, mostly because her class schedule demanded it. She was pre-med, was going to be a doctor just like her mom. As a general rule she didn’t mind working nights because Jon usually worked with her, but as winter set in it got colder and colder, and leaving the deli late meant swearing and freezing as she did her best to defrost her car. Jon always stuck around to make sure she made it into her car and her car worked, but it was the principle of the thing. There had been no winter on her home planet Hanka, not like this.

But she couldn’t explain that to Jon or anyone else, because as far as they knew she’d been adopted from Canada.

“Canada,” Jon had said one night while he was spitting chickens in the back, tone loaded with skepticism and amusement.

It was early December, and the snow was falling hard and fast. Cassie had been hoping that the first snow of the season - coupled with the fact that everyone forgot they knew how to drive in snow - would keep people home and let her evening shift be slow.

As it turned out, the first snow of the season meant no one in town wanted to cook and everyone wanted to buy something, so Cassie and Jon had about been run off their feet until about eight. Americans, as Cassie understood it, typically ate around six or seven, so eight was pushing it.

“Yeah,” Cassie said. “I grew up in Canada.”

“Where in Canada?”

Cassie improvised. “Langara.” That had been Jonas’s home planet. Mom had invited him to dinner sometimes, out of pity, because at first Uncle Jack and Aunt Sam hadn’t much liked him, blamed him for Uncle Daniel’s death. Cassie understood some of where he was coming from, though. Aliens together.

Jon arched an eyebrow. 

“It’s near Vancouver.”

“Never heard of it.” Jon ceased pinning her with his awfully intense gaze and resumed spitting chickens for the morning shift to stick in the rotisserie.

“Because you’re such a world traveler.” Cassie rolled her eyes and resumed slicing meat for the Grab’n’Go section of the deli case.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jon said, without a trace of sarcasm, and for a moment he seemed utterly familiar, so familiar that something in Cassie ached, but that was impossible. She’d met Jon for the first time his first day at the deli. He was a senior at Cold Springs High and had plans to be a mechanical engineer.

So he could build his own fishing boat and spend the rest of his life drifting on warm waves off the Gulf of Mexico fishing just enough to keep himself fed and in cervezas, or so he said. Early retirement.

The chimes over the door jangled. Cassie cleared her throat at Jon. His turn to get the customer. They took turns, as was only fair.

“I’m up to my elbows in raw chicken,” Jon said.

Cassie cleared her throat again, used her most pleasant voice, the one her mom used (used to use) on her favorite patients. “Be right there.”

“Take your time,” a man said. He had a pleasant baritone voice.

Cassie turned off the slicer, set the meat she’d been slicing aside, and hurriedly rinsed her hands. Then she headed out to the front of the shop.

The man standing on the other side of the glass deli case was tall, handsome, strong. Something in him reminded Cassie of Uncle Jack and Aunt Sam. Was he a soldier? He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and she didn’t see any hint of dog tags at his throat. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles in his chest, and he had a baseball cap mostly covering his dark blond hair, the shadow of it turning his blue eyes dark gray.

“How can I help you this evening, sir?”

He held out a piece of paper - a flyer. It had a hand drawn portrait of a man who was also handsome, beneath his angry expression. He had straggly chin-length dark hair, a cleft chin, and five o’clock shadow.

“I’m looking for this man. Have you seen him?”

Cassie shook her head. “No. Sorry.” She’d remember seeing someone that handsome. “Who is he?”

“My best friend.” The man’s expression turned grim. 

He was tired, Cassie realized. Had shadows around his eyes. His shoulders were slumped.

“What’s his name?”

“Bucky.”

“Sorry. Never known anyone by that name,” Cassie said.

Jon popped out of the back, drying his hands on a dish towel. He was always so protective of her. It made her irritated sometimes, how he seemed to think she was as vulnerable as a child. But usually she appreciated it. Aunt Sam and Mom had done their best to teach her Air Force hand-to-hand, with occasional assistance from Uncle T, but she was under no illusion she could take on the man on the other side of the counter if he decided to get violent with her.

“Who’s asking?” Jon asked.

“My name is Steve.”

Jon eyed Steve up and down. “You two serve together?”

Steve blinked. “How did you know?”

“NORAD’s just up the mountain,” Jon said, nodding in the direction of Cheyenne Mountain - and Stargate Command, though he didn’t know it. “Learn to see it after a while. Get plenty of personnel from base around here.”

“We served together. He saved my life a dozen times before that. We grew up together. After we got out, he - he’s had a hard time.” Steve bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. 

Even a man as big as Steve was discomfited by Jon’s piercing gaze.

But then Jon said, “Tell you what - we’ll post it in the window, for customers and passers-by to see.”

Cassie opened her mouth to point out that the manager was very picky about which causes were promoted and posted in the deli, but Jon nudged her gently with his elbow. Cassie could take a hint, said nothing.

“Thank you,” Steve said.

Jon poked around the shelves under the cash register for some tape.

“What’s your phone number?” Cassie asked. “So someone can call you if they’ve seen him.” She handed him a marker.

Steve had very neat handwriting, kind of old-fashioned school-teacher cursive. Jon had similar handwriting. Cassie’s handwriting was deplorable because English was her second language. At school, most of the girls she’d known had had pretty handwriting and the boys had had messy handwriting. It was a girl thing, Mom had said. Having nice writing.

“You draw this yourself?” Jon asked. 

Steve nodded. “You know art?”

“I know an artist.” Jon smoothed out the little flyer, then hopped over the counter and went to post it in the window right where people would see it as they were coming in.

“Thank you,” Steve said.

“You’re welcome,” Cassie said. “Good luck finding your friend.”

Steve started to leave, paused. “Can I get a sandwich? Or is it too late?”

Jon caught Cassie’s eye, arched an eyebrow. She nodded. She had this.

“No, it’s not too late. What would you like?”

Steve was very polite, asked for everything with  _ please _ and when the sandwich was all assembled said  _ thank you. _ He paid in cash, left her a generous tip, and then headed out into the night.

Into the cold in just a light windbreaker, no scarf, no gloves. Maybe he was parked close by.

Weird.

“Think anyone else is coming in tonight?” Jon asked.

Cassie slumped against the counter. “I hope not.”

“Good,” Jon said, and began to sing. 

Opera. He had a lovely voice.

*

Halfway through December and Cassie was worried about finals, what to get her family (Uncle Jack, Uncle T, Aunt Sam, Uncle Daniel back from the dead yet again) for Christmas (she always made sure to get Aunt Sam a separate birthday present), and what to do about the holidays in general. She’d had Thanksgiving with Aunt Sam and her family. None of Mom’s family had known what to make of it when Mom adopted Cassie, what with Mom being divorced and Cassie almost a teenager, and ever since Mom’s funeral none of them had talked to her. 

Now that Colorado Springs had accepted snow as a permanent winter fixture, people were less stupid about driving, and life had returned to business as usual, perhaps even busier for it being the holidays, and Cassie and Jon were working non-stop every time they were on shift.

Unfortunately for Cassie and Jon, they were very efficient workers, made a good team, and so when the day shift was lazy, they’d leave some chores undone, knowing Cassie and Jon would pick up the slack. That usually meant Jon and Cassie ended up working overtime, and Cassie knew better than Jon that The Manager - a skinny, sharp-faced man of indeterminate age but who liked to pretend he was younger than he was - didn’t like it when people worked overtime.

Between smiling at customers and serving up sandwiches, salads, and cold cuts, Jon said, 

“If he doesn’t like it, then he needs to get after the day shift, not us.”

“I’ve told him that,” Cassie said, and smiled at Blinky, a pleasant if lonely elderly woman who was a regular at the deli as much for the company as for the food.

Blinky smiled back at her, then shuffled out of the deli, purchases in hand.

“How many times?” Jon asked. 

“At least five.”

“Then I think it’s time for a little white mutiny,” Jon said.

Before Cassie could ask what that meant, the next customers were up, a pair of tall men, one dark-haired, one dark blond, both wearing buttoned-up double-breasted peacoats, slacks, and shiny loafers.

“Good evening,” the blond one said, smiling politely.

He had an accent like Vala, only Vala was an alien too. What did country did the gate translation system make Vala sound like she came from? Uncle Daniel would have known.

“Good evening,” Cassie responded. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Just a couple of sandwiches to go, please.”

Cassie nodded, pulled on a pair of gloves. “All right. What bread would you like to start with?”

The blond man glanced at his companion, who met his gaze briefly, then turned his attention to the snow falling gently out the window.

The blond man wrangled two orders at the same time, which spoke to either his impressive memory or the fact that the two men ate together often, though Cassie had never seen them at the deli before. She had the bread sliced, mayo added, was assembling the meat and vegetable toppings, and then Blinky reappeared, elbowing her way past both men as she fumbled in her shopping bag.

“Dearie,” she said to Cassie, “I was wondering if you could help me with the labels on the cold cuts again.”

Blinky had notoriously poor eyesight and often asked Cassie to read labels on purchases for her.

“Ma’am,” Cassie began, gesturing to the blond man, “I’m assisting this customer right now, but I’ll be with you in just a -”

“Madam,” the dark-haired man said, sliding forward beside his companion. He held out one black-gloved hand. “I’d be glad to assist you.”

The blond man raised his eyebrows. “Lucas?”

“Adam,” Lucas said evenly, volumes more communicated beneath the mere utterance of their names. Lucas had a deep, soothing voice.

Blinky blinked at him. “Oh.” She peered at Cassie, then back at Lucas. “If you don’t mind.”

Lucas’s smile was surprisingly gentle. “Not at all. Which labels do you need read to you?”

Blinky reached into her shopping bag and handed him some wrapped cold-cuts that Cassie had just sliced. The price labels came with pre-printed nutrition information. Lucas turned the package over, cleared his throat, and leaned down to Blinky, spoke softly but clearly.

Blinky nodded earnestly, listening intently.

Adam turned to Cassie, and she finished assembling the sandwiches. Adam paid with a card but left her a tip in cash. Cassie handed him the wrapped sandwiches, and he turned to go, paused when he saw Lucas sitting at one of the few little tables next to the window, Blinky’s shopping piled high on the table while Lucas read her the labels one by one. Adam went to stand beside Lucas, put one hand on his shoulder, squeezed.

Lucas glanced at him briefly, wearing the faintest of smiles, then resumed speaking to Blinky.

The next customer stepped up to the counter, and Cassie switched her focus from Adam, Lucas, and Blinky to the task at hand.

Half an hour later, the deli had quieted down, but Lucas, Adam, and Blinky were still seated at the small table. All of Blinky’s purchases were tucked back into her recyclable shopping bag, and Blinky was speaking earnestly to the two men. Adam excused himself briefly, ordered three slices of cake - three different kinds so they could all share. He paid, then carried them back to the table. Blinky exclaimed, delighted, and the three of them talked and laughed softly for another half hour before departing.

“They’ll never get rid of her,” Jon said, after the door closed behind them. “She’s like a stray cat.”

Cassie poked him in the ribs, reproachful.

“I get it, though,” Jon said. And he began to sing,  _ “Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four?” _

“I think she’s older than sixty-four,” Cassie said.

Jon slewed her a look. “It’s a Beatles song.”

The Beatles. Aunt Sam liked them, but Cassie didn’t listen to them much. So she hedged her bets with, “That’s old people music.” Given that most of her friends were at least two decades older than her, that was usually a free pass when she didn’t quite understand an Earth cultural reference.

Jon laughed. “Right. Don’t say that to anyone older than The Manager, though.”

Cassie could only imagine how angry he’d be at such a comment. “Speaking of The Manager, what’s white mutiny? Is it a skin color thing?” She asked it hesitantly. Uncle Daniel had tried to explain about skin colors and irrational dislikes related to them on Earth. Skin color had been irrelevant on Hanka. Goa’uld and Jaffa came in all colors.

“Ah. Military term.” Jon cleared his throat. “It’s like - malicious compliance. We do everything we’re supposed to do, to the letter, even if it makes us slower or less efficient. It irritates the people up the ladder, but because we’re following the rules, they can’t get mad at us.”

Cassie set to cleaning the chicken warmer. While she scrubbed, she thought. “Technically we’re supposed to ask if we ever need to deviate from our regular work hours. So - for every chore the morning shift left undone that they could have done, we should call The Manager and ask if he wants us to work overtime for each chore?”

“That would be a good one.” Jon whistled softly to himself. “Also the cleaning lists. It says we’re supposed to clean the windows, counters, sinks, slicers, floors, and sometimes the rotisserie. But it doesn’t say anything about cleaning the chairs and tables. It says to wash the dishes and sharpen the slicers but it says nothing about sharpening any of the knives.”

Jon always sharpened the knives. He was good at it. Had lots of practice, he said. He found it soothing.

“Do you think it’d really change The Manager’s mind?” Cassie asked.

“Hardly, since most of the morning staff is his relatives, and we’d be hard-pressed to prove that they could have completed any chores they didn’t,” Jon said. “But if his managers ever came to ask what was going on and we had everything documented, well, we’d have a better shot at asking for the morning staff to do their job better.”

“Or upper management would fire all the morning staff and we’d be pulling double shifts till they were replaced,” Cassie pointed out.

“True. But we could train the new morning staff how we want,” Jon said.

“Also true,” Cassie said. “But if we complain, The Manager will split us up. And I need you to keep me sane.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t driven you  _ insane _ by now? Clearly I’m not trying hard enough.”

Cassie flicked some soap suds in his general direction. “No. Your job is to keep me sane. Sing for me.”

Jon looked startled for a moment, but then he nodded. “All right. What do you want to hear?”

“One of the sad songs. With the -” Cassie fluttered her voice experimentally.

“An old Irish lay? Sure.” Jon cleared his throat, and he began to sing.

Cassie could never tell him, but they sounded like the lullabies her first mother had sung to her, on Hanka. It was probably the closest she’d ever get to hearing them on Earth. Outside, the snow kept on falling. Even though the deli was perfectly warm - and on some nights it was hot - Cassie shivered.

*

Cassie didn’t see the magic in winter. She didn’t think the snow was beautiful - especially in the city, where it was driven over and constantly muddy. She didn’t like being cold, even though she’d been given lots of cold weather gear over the years. Military grade, Uncle Jack would say proudly, then look confused when Aunt Sam and Mom looked disapproving, because when Cassie put it all on, she looked like a little Stargate Command soldier, all in military-issue white.

Cassie didn’t believe in Christmas. After living on a planet oppressed by Nirrti, she refused to put her allegiance in any gods. Cassie liked giving people gifts, of course, but on Earth they did that on birthdays and anniversaries and sometimes for no reason at all, so gift-giving at Christmas wasn’t special so much as more prolific than the rest of the year. Cassie didn’t do any winter sports. Uncle Jack had tried to teach her and Teal’c to ice skate, but that had never gone well. Aunt Sam knew how to ski, but Cassie just didn’t like being cold.

She learned to say  _ Merry Christmas _ and  _ Happy Holidays _ and  _ Happy Hannukah _ and  _ Happy Kwanzaa _ if ever anyone said them to her. Jon was a smart-aleck, liked to throw in  _ Happy Solstice _ and  _ Merry Yule _ whenever people offered holiday greetings to him.

So at the end of a long day - last day of finals, long shift at the deli - Cassie sank against the counter and stared, mystified, at the group of children in the parking lot who were having a snowball fight. With dirty snow, too. Their mothers would yell at them.

“Got big plans for the holidays?” Jon asked.

Cassie shook her head. “Nope. Just me and my dog.”

Jon squinted at her. “No...family?”

“My mom died earlier this year, so -” Cassie shrugged. “I’m on the Christmas Eve shift.”

Jon’s eyes went wide. “Your mother is dead?”

Cassie nodded. “Yeah. She was a Major with the Air Force. Died on a mission.”

“A mission?” Jon looked poleaxed. “But I thought she was a military doctor. You know, stayed on base. Where it was safe. Er. Safer. That’s why you’re going to be a doctor, right?”

“Sometimes she had to go out into the field to save a soldier. And she saved the ones she was sent out for. She didn’t make it home.” Cassie shrugged again, trying for casual, but she hadn’t understood it either. Sure, sometimes the base itself was in danger, but Mom was supposed to stay on Earth. Earth was safe.

Jon floundered, up to his elbows in raw chicken once more. “But - surely you have aunts and uncles -?”

“I spent Thanksgiving with my Aunt. I’m actually okay, being alone on Christmas. Didn’t grow up celebrating it, so it’s not an important holiday to me.”

Jon resumed spitting chickens. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Cassie said firmly. Then it was her turn to eye him. “What about you? Do you have big Christmas plans?”

“Nope. It’s just me, myself, and I. Parents died a few years back, state let me strike out on my own, and I like it that way.” Jon finished the chickens and went to wash his hands.

There was a tension to his shoulders that Cassie didn’t trust, but his tone was perfectly casual. She’d lost her parents twice. She couldn’t imagine being out on her own when she was still young and vulnerable. Especially with how Nirrti’s experimenting on the Hankan people came back to haunt her when she was fifteen. Jon was about the same age as her, though she was a college freshman where he was still a senior, because Mom, Aunt Sam, and Uncle Daniel had worked so hard to get her caught up with schooling on Earth.

Although if he was okay spending Christmas on his own, why was he so upset at the thought of her spending Christmas alone?

“Do you have a pet or something?” Cassie asked.

Jon shook his head.

Cassie said, “My Uncle Jack says every kid should have a dog. It’s a rule.”

Jon looked startled for a moment, but pleased, and then his expression was neutral once more. He set about fetching the whetstones and oil he used to sharpen the kitchen knives. The official sharpener they were given was a piece of crap, in his opinion. Cassie had never had to worry about dull knives once he’d started at the deli.

“What’s your dog’s name?”

“Spot,” Cassie said.

“Does he have spots?”

“No, but Uncle Daniel said the fiercest dog in all of mythology was Cerberus, three-headed guardian of the underworld, and in Greek Cerberus means  _ spotted, _ so I named my dog Spot, because he’s the fiercest dog I’ve ever had.”

Jon blinked. “That makes - sense. In a long-winded, convoluted, really geeky kind of way.”

“That’s exactly how I’d describe Uncle Daniel,” Cassie said.

For one moment, Jon looked terribly sad.

Before Cassie could apologize for saying something to upset him - did he used to have an Uncle Daniel? - the chimes over the door jingled.

Cassie set aside the bowl of doughnut dough she’d been mixing and headed out to the front counter.

“Good evening! How can I help…?”

She was hit with a blast of icy air.

A man stood in the doorway. He was wearing a dark jacket with the hood drawn up, dusty blue jeans and heavy dark boots. When he turned to her, she couldn’t see his face, because it was shadowed by the bill of the black baseball cap he was wearing under his hood.

He yanked the little hand-drawn missing poster off the glass and was across the floor in an instant. The door thumped shut behind him.

He slapped the poster down on the counter.

“Where did you get this?” His voice came out low, a feral growl.

Cassie backed up instinctively. “A man brought it in. His name was Steve. We hung it up, to be nice.”

And then Jon was there, stepping between Cassie and the man even though the counter was also a line of defense.

“Ease up,” Jon said. “Can we get you anything? A sandwich?”

The man’s stomach growled loudly. He shrank back, embarrassed. Then he said, “I don’t have any money.”

He turned to go, crumpling the fragile piece of paper in hand, marring the beautifully-drawn portrait.

“Wait,” Cassie said, stepped around Jon.

He caught her shoulder with a hissed  _ Cassie! _ but she shook him off.

“Look, it’s the end of the night, and we’re getting ready to close up. There’s a lot of food we’d have to throw away because it wouldn’t last the night, but it’s still good now. If you’re interested. It - it wouldn’t cost you anything.”

The man’s stomach growled again.

“Bucky, right?” Cassie said, taking a gamble. “Steve left his number on the picture. If you want to call him. He’s worried about you. He cares about you.”

The man turned to face her fully. “Did he say that?”

“Didn’t have to,” Jon said. “It was obvious, the way he talked about you. Epic bromance, I think the kids call it these days.”

_ The kids, _ he said. Like he wasn’t a kid himself.

The man looked ready to flee, but he looked Jon up and down. “You’re a soldier,” he said.

Jon let out a startled burst of laughter. “Me? I’m just a kid.”

The man prowled closer, tugged back his hood so he could get a better look. Cassie had been right. He was the man in Steve’s picture. Pale and exhausted in real life, but just as handsome - and angry.

“Maybe in another life,” Jon said, “I’d have been a soldier. But in this life, I’m just me. Just a kid.”

The man peered at him, suspicious.

Jon cracked a grin, one just like Uncle Jack’s, bright and not completely sincere, with a dangerous edge to it, like light glinting off the blade of a knife. “I’m Jon. This is Cassie.” He offered a hand.

The man stared at it for a moment, befuddled. And then he shook Jon’s hand briefly, carefully. “Bucky.”

“Cassie, how about you bring the man a selection of the sandwiches we were going to KLT tonight, let him pick his favorite?”

Cassie nodded, headed over to the sandwich case, and picked one of each kind, then trotted back to the cash register and set them out on the counter. “Which one do you want?”

Bucky stared at them for a long time. He started to reach out with his left hand, froze, then switched to his right hand.

“Pastrami,” he said. “I remember. From the Italian deli down the street.” Something akin to wonder crossed his face.

“Have a seat, take a load off,” Jon said, his tone unnaturally cheerful. “How about some hot cocoa to go with your sandwich? It’ll take the edge off.”

Cassie nudged him, because they didn’t actually serve hot chocolate, but Bucky nodded, shuffled over to the nearest table, half-turned his back to them, and then tore into the sandwich. Spot ate like that - putting his body between Cassie and his food. Protecting his food. Instinctive. Like someone might steal it.

For all that Bucky was a big, strong man, he was too thin in the face, probably went hungry a lot.

Jon headed into the back, fetched a coffee mug, filled it with water, put it in the microwave. Then he dug around under the counter for a little pouch of hot cocoa - his own private stash - and once the microwave beeped, set about stirring in the hot cocoa powder. He even used the can of whipped cream to spray some on the surface of the hot cocoa. Jon started to head out from behind the counter, but Cassie took the mug from him.

“I’ve got this,” she said.

Jon arched an eyebrow, but then he nodded, stepped back, gestured for her to go. Mom had become a doctor because she wanted to help people, had joined the Air Force to get her med school loans paid off. Mom had stayed with the Air Force because she wanted to help the people who gave everything - even their lives - to help everyone in the country. Bucky had been one of the people Mom would have gone to save.

From the looks of him, he’d given a lot in defense of his country. It was Cassie’s country now, too. And the people who defended it had also done their best to defend her, were trying to defend entire galaxies full of people like her.

“Here,” Cassie said, before she got too close. “Some hot cocoa.”

He started, twisted around to look at her. He tugged his left arm in awkwardly to his side, almost like it was hurt, to make room on the table.

Cassie made sure to put the mug down well out of range of his elbow so he wouldn’t knock it over accidentally.

“Thanks,” he said.

Cassie flashed him a smile, retreated back behind the counter.

Jon didn’t return to sharpening knives in the back, instead set about wrapping the meats and cheeses and salads for storage till tomorrow. He was aware of Bucky without watching him. Bucky was likely just as aware of him and Cassie without watching them.

Outside, the snow was falling faster, harder. Cassie didn’t like it one bit. It’d be awful to scrape off her car. Hopefully her car wouldn’t get stuck in the snow.

When Bucky finished he shuffled up to the counter to return the mug.

“Thank you,” he said again, and headed for the door.

“Merry Christmas,” Cassie called after him.

He lifted his right hand in a wave - left arm still tucked protectively against his side - and stepped out into the snow. He put his hat back on, tugged his hood up, shoulders hunched protectively against the cold. For one moment, he was haloed in the golden light of the street lamp, snow falling all around him, and it was like he was the only person in the world.

And then he stepped into the darkness, and he was gone.

*

“Christmas Eve should be quiet,” Cassie said as she clocked in. “Right? People will be at home with their families.”

Jon stared at her. Then he reached out, deliberately rapped his knuckles on the door frame.  _ Knock on wood, _ the Earthers said. As a way to ward off bad luck.

“Now you’ve gone and done it. You’ve cursed us.” He clocked in - he tended to hunt-and-peck with his typing, like an old person. Then he twitched on his apron and reached for the cleaning chart, flipped through it, noting what the day shift hadn’t done that they would probably need to do. “See, ordinarily you’d be right. Christmas Eve should mean that everyone’s safely ensconced in a warm home with a big fire roaring in on the hearth. The adults will be getting tipsy on eggnog while the children go through the house on a grid-search for presents. Someone’s uncle will tell the same embarrassing stories he tells every year, more embarrassing the drunker he gets. People will be crowded in the kitchen, churning out baked goods. Little ones will be ooh-ing and aah-ing at the lights on the tree, and looking out the window for signs of Santa and his reindeer. That’s what should be happening. But have you looked in the deli case? We’re low on salads, subs, and sandwiches, all the chicken is gone. Because done are the days where people cooked things at home. Today families are overworked and underpaid and thanks to technology, even busier than before, paperless though they may be, so now that the holidays are here they’re too exhausted to cook, so they’re all coming here. To have us cook for them.”

Cassie blinked. “You think so?”

“This place is a shambles. We’d better hop to it before the second wave hits.” Jon set the cleaning chart aside, rolled up his sleeves, and set to making more salads. 

Cassie set to making some more sandwiches. Jon wasn’t wrong. The day shift had barely departed, and then customers came in waves. Salads. Subs. Sandwiches. Cakes. Specialty breads. Whatever chicken they had left - they were practically cleaned out. By the end of four hours, Cassie could no longer feel her feet, her face hurt from smiling, and she wanted to go home, crawl into bed with Spot beside her, and sleep clear through till the next semester.

Jon didn’t look much better, though he’d turned on some Christmas carols as background music and had sung along to some of them when he was working in the back, to the delight of the customers, though they’d all looked puzzled when he emerged and he was skinny Jon and not a big fat man in a suit like most opera singers.

When the last of the Christmas Eve rush departed - people who’d forgotten to pick up food items to take to this party or that gathering or that relative - Cassie and Jon slumped against the counter side by side, breathing hard.

Jon heaved himself upright first, put two mugs in the microwave. “I’m sharing my hot cocoa with you,” he said. “I don’t share lightly. Consider it your Christmas present.”

“Thank you,” Cassie said. “I have nothing to share.” She bit her lip. She hadn’t even thought to bring him a Christmas present. It wasn’t uncommon for close coworkers to exchange Christmas gifts, as far as she knew.

Jon shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We survived this together, right?” He held up one hand.

For a high five, Cassie realized a beat too late, but he didn’t pull his hand back, so she gave him a high five.

“Together,” she said.

The microwave beeped, and Jon fetched both mugs, stirred in hot cocoa from his secret stash, and set them on the counter, where they steamed. Jon even sprinkled little marshmallows into each mug and, as an added bonus, put a candy cane in each one.

“Use it as a swizzle stick, and it gives the cocoa a hint of peppermint,” he said.

Cassie thanked him, stirred her hot cocoa so the marshmallows dissolved. “Is that how you had it as a child?”

“Ah - no. A friend taught me.” Jon leaned on the counter, and for one moment, he looked terribly old and terribly exhausted and terribly lonely. Then he straightened up, stirred his hot cocoa with the candy cane, took a sip. “There, that’s the spirit.” He stared out at the window at the falling snow. It felt like snow was always falling these days. “You like the snow?”

“No, I hate being cold. It wasn’t cold where I came from, not like this.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “It’s not cold in Canada?”

“Not where I was from,” Cassie said firmly.

“O-kay. Do you do any winter sports? Ice skating? Skiing? That newfangled break-neck thing snowboarding?”

“No. I like to stay inside where it’s warm.”

“You’ve never...had a snowball fight or made a snowman or snow angels?”

Uncle Jack, Aunt Sam, Mom, and even Uncle Daniel had tried to convince her to do all of those things, but she’d never seen the point. Cassie shook her head.

“What if you wore really, really warm clothes? We’re talking military-grade stuff.”

Cassie shook her head, amused by Jon’s bafflement at her utter dislike of winter.

“Will you stay in Colorado, then, once you’re done with school? Because it sounds like you’re better suited for Hawaii or California or Florida.” Jon kept sipping his hot cocoa.

“I don’t know. Everyone I know and care about is here. I suppose it depends on where I get into med school and get a job.”

Jon glanced at her sidelong. “You ever consider joining up, going military like your mom?”

Cassie knew if she did join the military she’d have a great chance of getting accepted into the Stargate Program, being an alien and all. “I don’t know if I’m as brave as she was.”

“Kid,” Jon said, “you’re braver than you know.” He drained his mug, set it aside, and then hopped over the counter with an agility Cassie envied. He took a certain strange glee in his agility, but she didn’t make fun of him for it like some of the others did. If the simple things in life made him smile, well, it sounded like he’d had occasion to cry in his life already.

He set to wiping down the tables with broad, easy strokes. Then he handed the rag back to Cassie for rinsing, and she tossed it into the sink before handing him the broom and dustpan so he could sweep around the tables. Most people hadn’t stayed to eat, but enough had that there was a mess.

Jon sang softly while he worked. Even though he had a powerful operatic voice, when he sang to himself, it was usually the Irish lays that he said his mother and grandmother had sung to him. And sometimes it was other songs, songs that Cassie had heard on the radio, or that Aunt Sam liked or Uncle Daniel liked. Aunt Sam often remarked that she wished she’d learn to play a musical instrument - she’d always wanted to play the cello. Uncle Daniel could play the piano. Maybe one day Cassie would learn to play something. 

Cassie worked through the list of chores - everything had to be scrubbed extra-well and a lot more things had to be KLT’d and thrown out than usual because the deli would be closed Christmas day - and she listened to Jon sing, and fifteen minutes before the deli was supposed to close, they were all done. 

“So, big plans for tomorrow?” Jon asked.

Cassie groaned. “Sleep.”

“Yeah. Sleep.” Jon chuckled. Then he glanced at his watch. “You should go. I got things here. Spot’s waiting for you.”

No one was waiting for him.

“By the time you get done dusting off and defrosting your car, it’ll be closing time anyway,” he added.

Cassie could dust the snow off of Jon’s car, of a kindness. “Are you sure?”

“I am. If there’s a sudden last-minute rush, I got us covered. Besides, we’ve both worked overtime this week. I suspect The Manager will be pleased if you leave early.”

“That’s true.” Cassie started to untie her apron. “If you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am. Now shoo.”

Cassie turned to head into the back to clock out, and the bells over the door jangled.

She turned and saw - Steve. Wearing the same completely weather-inappropriate jacket and baseball cap as before. 

“Are you closed?” he asked, hovering in the doorway.

“Still got fifteen minutes and a few sandwiches,” Jon said. 

Steve smiled. “Thanks.” He stepped into the deli - and someone came with him. Bucky.

Bucky hung back by the door, but Steve came to the counter.

“I was about to apologize and say someone stole that poster you left us,” Jon said. “Seems like that was a good thing.”

Steve’s smile turned sweet. He ducked his head. “It was a very good thing.”

Cassie headed for the deli case. “Pastrami, right? Like from the Italian deli back home.”

Steve looked startled, then pleased, and he nodded. “You remembered.”

“She’s real smart,” Jon said. “Gonna be a doctor, like her mother.”

“A doctor’s a noble calling,” Steve said. “Good luck.”

Cassie ducked her head. “Thanks.” She rang him up. 

He paid cash, thanked them, left them a very large tip, and went to join Bucky, who’d been literally standing guard at the door.

Cassie called out, “Merry Christmas!”

Steve waved at her. “Merry Christmas to you too.” He handed one sandwich to Bucky.

Cassie was startled when Jon called after them.

“You got somewhere warm and safe to stay tonight?”

“We’ll find a place,” Steve said.

“If you don’t,” Jon said, “I’ve got space. My place really is too big for just me.”

Steve frowned. “You’re not spending Christmas with family?”

“All my family’s - gone.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “How old are you?”

“Same age you were,” Bucky said, “when your ma passed.”

“I get that we’re total strangers,” Jon said. He scribbled his cell phone number on the back of one of the deli’s holiday fliers. “But just in case. It gets cold out there.” He pushed the flier across the counter.

It was Bucky who accepted it. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Merry Christmas.” Then he towed Steve out of the deli, sandwiches in hand.

Cassie watched them go. The door closed behind them, and they vanished into the shadows and falling snow. Then she turned to Jon. “You could spend Christmas with me and Spot.”

Jon, she finally realized, was incredibly lonely.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as you were, that I could cut out early. And now we only have five minutes left anyway.”

The smile on Jon’s face was painfully hopeful. “Okay. Thanks, Cassie. I promise it won’t be - weird.”

“I already know you’re weird,” Cassie said. “And besides,” she added, carefully reciting the words Aunt Sam and Mom had taught her, “you’re like a brother to me.”

Instead of insulted, Jon looked relieved. “Good.”

“Mom left the house to me, and it’s too big for just me and Spot. You can sleep in the guest room.”

“That’s better than the couch,” Jon said fervently.

Together they closed up the deli, and they defrosted, dusted off, and scraped off their cars. They stopped by Jon’s place - it was pretty big, for a kid his age - so he could grab some overnight gear, and then they went back to Cassie’s, where Spot was waiting for them.

Cassie set up the guest room while Jon went out in the snow and played with Spot - chase and fetch and other silly games that ended with Jon and Spot wrestling in the snow. Cassie didn’t have a Christmas tree, just a small pile of presents from Aunt Sam, Uncle Jack, Uncle Daniel, and Uncle T and a few friends from school, but Jon didn’t seem to mind the lack of decorations, admitted his place was equally boring. But they sang a couple of Christmas carols together, and shared another mug of hot chocolate, and then it was time to sleep.

Spot slept on the guest bed with Jon.

Cassie crawled into her own bed and wondered what, if anything, she could do with Jon.

Snow angels. Tomorrow, she’d ask him to teach her how to make snow angels.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” she whispered, and fell asleep.


End file.
